


Flight Log: Departure (Autopilot, Collision)

by amelioratedays



Category: GOT7
Genre: M/M, another fic for me to update once a year ha ha h..a..a
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7863442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelioratedays/pseuds/amelioratedays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cadet!AU as Youngjae and Yugyeom enter the program and meet one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 《壹》

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo basically I had promised a Yugjae fic and never delivered and when Fly came out I started this but left it alone until the sudden pressure from the announcement of Flight Log: Turbulence reminded me that this fic still lived in my hard drive....

The muttered chatter around them reeks of excitement, suppressed happiness as their mentor finishes up his briefing and takes his seat in the front. Youngjae shifts in his seat, looking to his left to gaze out the thick window of the aeroplane. They’re still on solid ground, and he spots the various workers and customers walking across the airport. The yellow of the repair crew’s uniform stand out amongst the grey pavement like golden dandelion flowers growing on the roadside. He spots two second officers nearby, probably negotiating the flight plans.

 

He leans back in his seat, letting the reality of everything sink in, The anxiety of it all taking over him as he fumbles for the glass of water in front of him, hands trembling ever so slightly due to his nerves. The boy next to him glances at him curiously, before leaning over and asking in a low voice. “It’s not your first time riding an aeroplane, is it?” The other male asks in disbelief. Youngjae freezes for a moment, before nodding with an embarrassed laugh--hand reaching up to tug awkwardly at his hair.

 

“You’re not scared, are you?” The other inquires, eyes wide in suspicion.

 

“Not really, I’m just too excited.” He clarifies, smoothing out the fabric of his jeans. “I just didn’t think I’d make it in the program.”

 

“Me neither,” Youngjae observes as the other male speaks, unable to determine if he was younger or older than himself. “A lot of us were dropped by the second examination.”

 

He nods in return, about to speak when the announcement from the intercom interrupts his thoughts. The motor of the plane starts, air cycle machine turning on with a roar as the plane slowly moves down the runway. He throws an excited glance with the boy next to him before turning abruptly to look out the window, watching as they ascend away from the ground. The people and buildings slowly turn into small specks of colour as the cotton white of the clouds surround them in midsky. A smile creeps its way onto his face, heart beating faster as the anxiousness in his veins slowly morph into one of thrill.

 

There’s a rustle of fabric behind him, and Youngjae feels a subtle warmth lay upon his back as a soft voice sounds by his ear. He turns his head to face the man next to him, shifting backwards when he realizes their proximity. “We’re really flying,” the other comments, bright eyes fixated on the blue and white outside the glass window.

 

“Yeah,” he says with a whisper, smile still evident on his face.

 

“I’m Kim Yugyeom by the way.”

 

“Choi Youngjae.”

 

 

 

 

 

Yugyeom, he finds out, is younger than him by a year. Though based on height alone, Youngjae wouldn’t have deduced it, with the other boy looming a head taller than him. He moves a bit to the side, bringing some distance between them. The weather in Adelaide is much warmer than Korea, cerulean blue skies contrasting the white clouds in the skies even in the early spring. Youngjae tugs at his scarf, loosening it as they walk towards the dormitory entrance. The sound of the wheels of his luggage against the asphalt grounds following his footsteps.

 

He’s placed in a room with Mark, an overseas student in the program. “It’s my second time here,” the older male states. “I didn’t graduate the first time, so here I am again.” He says when Youngjae looks at him with surprise.

 

“Is it really that hard?” He asks with worry.

 

“You can imagine it’s like completing a major  within these 55 weeks, it’s probable but definitely not easy.” The brunette states, unpacking his luggage and walking towards the closet. He stops to face Youngjae when he’s done, “Ease up,” he reassures. “Most of the students do pass, I was just never good at studies.”

 

“Neither am I,” Youngjae sighs dejectedly, slumping his shoulders.

 

“It’s only the first day here, be more optimistic!” Mark says with a laugh, “Rest up today and get a good start on things.”

 

Youngjae hums in reply, going back to unpack his luggage—pulling out the stacks of clothing. The sky outside the window is a clear blue, soft sunlight making its way into the room. He hears the distant chatter of the other cadets down the hall, soon masked by the sound of his own humming, melodies of moons and stars.

  
  


 

 

The first lesson starts off with basics; though, even the basics seem to overwhelm Youngjae—falling head first into the syllabus and tumbling his way through maps and checklists. Mark sits beside him, and Youngjae glances over at the other’s notes, clear penmanship completely different from the messy writing on his own page. There’s an abundance of arrows drawn from one point to the next, sloppily connecting ideas together. He sighs, huffing his cheeks as he clears his mind and picks up his pen again, jotting down the sketch on the board. He doesn’t make much sense of it, but he figures he can dwell on that later. In the back of the room, the second hand of the old clock ticks on, counting down as the lecture goes on. Youngjae’s looking at maps of mountains and terrains, drawing arrows and circles. This isn’t the sky he dreams of. His plane’s still stagnant on cement grounds.

 

He’s far from takeoff, route undetermined.

  
  
  


 

Yugyeom finds them after class, settling between him and Mark as he makes his introductions. There’s a lack of formalities in their interactions, but Youngjae lets it pass as Mark doesn’t seem bothered and a one year age difference between him and the younger male isn’t something that should build mountains and rivers between them. Besides, he figures, Yugyeom’s chatter fits in well between the silences that Mark and him create—bringing a small spark of fire to their interactions.

 

He takes a peculiar fondness of the younger male, in the casual bluntness of his remarks and seemingly lackadaisical approach to matters. It’s a contrast with his own personality, where one wrong turn in thoughts and Youngjae finds himself launched into a maze of over-worrying and anxieties. It’s as if he’s almost always floating mid-air and Yugyeom can reach out to pull him back to solid ground; back to something concrete and non-abstract.

 

“Calm down,” Yugyeom says, as Youngjae refuses an outing on the prospects of reviewing the class material. “It’s only the first day.”

 

He sighs, “It’s _only_ the first day, and I already feel overwhelmed.”

 

Mark laughs lowly, “It just takes some time adjusting, but everything today is part of the basics.”

 

“Basics,” Youngjae repeats, “I don’t even have the basics down.”

 

“Relax!”  the older male replies, “they’ll review it every other lesson, you won’t forget them.”

 

Yugyeom nods, loose strands of hair moving with his actions, “Let’s just go out for lunch now and come back to study after. It’s still early,” he says, pulling the brunette male down the corridor. The afternoon sunlight shines through the window panes, shadows dancing upon the tiled floors as Youngjae finds himself stumbling forwards—Yugyeom’s hold tight on his wrist. Mark follows behind him, as their shadows intersect and divide with each step.


	2. 《貳》

“Sometimes it feels like a school here, sometimes it doesn’t.” Youngjae comments to Mark one afternoon while flipping through the notes he took earlier in the morning. “And that’s why it’s a mentorship program.” Mark replies back, typing corrections on their flight plan.

 

“Maybe this is what vocational school feels like,” he says as Mark hums back in agreement. There’s a pause in their conversation, an occasional flipping of a page or tapping of the keyboard. Youngjae sits with the thought in mind, lip jutting out as he contemplates. It’s a while before he speaks again, putting down his book to face the older male properly. “It’s like…it’s somewhere between high school and college.”

 

“Is it?” Mark muses, the corners of his lips upturning.

 

“I’m being serious!” Youngjae states.

 

“I know.” The brunette male replies with a chuckle. “It’s just a different feeling for me. The education system back home is different from your’s.” He says as he finishes typing the sentence and closing his laptop screen. “It’s my second time here as well, it’s more like déjà vu than a new experience.”

 

It’s then that Youngjae looks back at him sheepishly, realizing that he’s said the wrong things to the wrong person. “Sorry, I was just trying to sort out how I feel about this place.” He says, pulling at the loose thread of his jeans. The older male only smiles, “Maybe if you talk to Yugyeom, you’d get more concurrence.”

 

“Probably,” he replies. “You divert me to Yugyeom a lot, you know.”

 

“Do I?”

 

“I’d think so.”

 

 

 

 

 

“I think I always end up saying the wrong things to Mark-hyung,” Youngjae says while picking a fry from Yugyeom’s plate. The younger male swats at his hand but gives up after the umpteenth time. He watches begrudgingly as the older male chews dejectedly on his fry. He gives a small frown and reaches over for his soda, slurping loudly from his straw. “Mark-hyung doesn’t take such things to heart,” Yugyeom reassures.

 

“Still,” Youngjae says while chewing, “I feel inconsiderate to his feelings.”

 

“Then just don’t talk as much.”

 

“Then it’ll feel awkward!”

 

“Not like he talks a lot anyways,” he says with a shrug, wiping his hands and standing up to throw away his plate. Youngjae sighs, following the brunette male to the trash bin. The distant sound of chatter continues behind them as they exit the cafeteria, doors closing shut as they step into the hallway. Youngjae prods, listening to the echo of his footsteps.

 

“Do you think it bothers Mark-hyung when he thinks about not having passed the first time?” He asks, aligning his steps to Yugyeom’s pace. He lifts his neck slightly to face the taller male, watching as the light from the windows turn the other’s hair a soft brown. The soft halo surrounding the younger male almost seems blinding—almost, and he shifts his gaze back to the road ahead.

 

“Maybe, but then again, everyone has one or two things that troubles them.” Yugyeom answers, “We’ve just got to get past them.”

 

Youngjae nods with a hum. “I guess,” he replies, stepping in between the floor tiles as he avoids the cracks. He’s crossing mountains and rivers, reaching out to hold onto Yugyeom’s arm as he avoids steep crevices. The sunlight filters through, and Youngjae looks at their shadows on the white tiled floors. They’re still on solid ground, though he feels as if his heart has far soared off into the skies. “How long before we fly,” he murmurs. Yugyeom looks at him in confusion but he only shakes his head. He gives a salute to their shadows before continuing their prior path, the younger male following close behind.

 

He hears him mutter behind him but Youngjae doesn’t pay much attention, following his shadow in front of him. The sun hangs brightly in the blue skies, and Youngjae marks down another day on his calendar.

 

 

 

 

 

The rustling sound of paper fills the room as Youngjae lifts the map from the table, softly blowing the eraser shavings onto the ground. He puts it back down with a sigh before taking the ruler again to redraw the flight route. He barely puts pressure upon the pencil before Yugyeom nudges him from the side.

 

“You can’t fly that way. We don’t have enough oil to take a detour.” The younger boy states. Youngjae looks at him with a huff. “But with the weather conditions we’re given, a direct route would be too risky.” He gives a sideways glance to Mark, lips jutting out in a pout. Mark looks up from his stack of papers, “Are there any airports nearby that you can land midway?”

 

“There is, but not all of them accept our airline. The only two that do will deviate from the original route.” Yugyeom juts in, pointing his pencil to the two areas on the map.

 

“Better safe than to worry about flight delays, isn’t it?” The older male responds.

 

“I guess,” Youngjae says, aligning the metal ruler to the new path. It’s only much later that he realizes the meaning behind Mark’s words. That compared to taking fatal risks to reach the end, the only choice is to safely cross one step at a time. The river continues to flow, water running above the stones as he takes another step ahead. He wonders if he were to jump to the next would he have slipped and fell. And if so, will he then be carried away by the running waters—would he never reach the other side?

 

There’s only so many ways to reach the end and he ponders upon hastily rushing his journey. But with every step he’s simply slowly burning down. There’s only so much fuel for the plane to reach its destination. And to accelerate simply is playing a gamble with time and limitations—fire blazing as the fuel tank runs empty.

 

He thinks back to how many trials and errors humankind have had until the first plane soared into the skies. He wonders how many trials and errors he can have in this one lifetime. Ah, that’s when he remembers, he only has one lifetime.

 

But if then, what is it that he lives this lifetime for.

How then, will he live this lifetime until the very end without spiralling down with a crash.

Will his end be a smooth landing, or it will it combust in a show of fireworks and smoke?

 

Folding the scrap paper into a paper aeroplane, Youngjae throws it with force. He watches as it floats in mid-air, flying across the room. It hits Yugyeom shoulder, falling to the tiled grounds headfirst. The younger male looks at him with mock anger and he lets out a chuckle, eyes upturning into crescents. He watches as the other male picks up the battered plane, eyes following as Yugyeom throws it back at him.

 

Is one end, he ponders, simply another beginning?


	3. 《叁》

The days continue to pass and Youngjae crosses out the equation he’s been attempting to solve for the past fifteen minutes. He lets out a groan before tossing the packet and slumping in his seat. Mark laughs at his actions, peering over to see what question has stumped the brunette male. And Youngjae watches with wide eyes as Mark scribbles computations on the side within a matter of minutes. He lets out another groan, louder this time, while messing up his own hair. He drags his hand down his face, pushing his cheeks inwards until he’s left making a distorted facial expression.

 

“Math just isn’t my friend.” He whines.

 

“You talk like the other subjects we’re learning are.” Mark mocks playfully, ruffling Youngjae’s bangs. The younger male lets out a muffled refutation, speaking into his hands. He looks at the packet again, flipping pages hastily while sighing. “Everything we’re learning is out of my league. We just finished physics and now it’s meteorology, why is everything sciences?! What happened to humanities components?”

 

“What part of commercial pilot program screams humanities?” Yugyeom butts in. “Did you not read the syllabus the first day?” Youngjae looks at the younger male with a skeeving look, tossing his pencil at Yugyeom. He takes a glance at the other cadets in the room, leaning back on the sofa. Everyone else seems to be ahead of him, pencils dutifully drawing diagrams and computing equations. “At this point, I’ll be dead before I actually touch a real plane.” He huffs.

 

Yugyeom rolls his eyes, “We haven’t even entered the simulator yet, let alone an actual plane.”

 

“At this point, I’ll be dead before I even enter the simulator!” He wheezes in Yugyeom’s ear, sentence fading into a fit of laughter. The younger male plays along, “At this point, you’ll be dead before the homework deadline comes!” Youngjae frowns, shoving Yugyeom as he refocuses himself on the homework packet in front of him.

 

“It’s okay,” Yugyeom says, no longer joking, “None of us will be ousted before we place our hands on an actual plane.” The determination in his voice slightly fazes Youngjae--but just _slightly_. And it’s only a short moment before Youngjae registers the reassurance in the other’s voice. “You’re that confident?” He asks with a smile.

 

“Of course,” Yugyeom replies.

 

And perhaps it’s this conviction of Yugyeom’s that always seems to contrast with Youngjae’s outlook. Where he knows that if Mark is someone to tell him the blatant truth of things, Kim Yugyeom is someone that will urge him to somehow see an empty glass as a glass half full.

 

And so he passes his days with a glass seemingly half full--shadows and optics playing tricks on his eyes. He watches as the rays refract through glass to cast rainbows onto the desk. For a moment he thinks they’re ripples of water--only for a moment before he remembers that it’s only light. He reaches out his hand in attempt to grasp a hold on the refractions only to grab onto thin air. He watches as the rainbow prances upon his skin, unable to hold it within his hands.

 

Youngjae feels as if he’s attempting to catch his dreams and aspirations, only to realize that he’s been catching mirages all along. He’s been walking along the desert towards a fountain that exists in another plane of dimension.

 

And when the night falls and he lays upon the campus grounds, counting the stars above, Youngjae wonders if this is what he’s truly striving for. He reckons it is. All along he’s wanted to place himself in the skies above, away from the cement grounds and towards the vast ocean of blue.

 

 

 

 

 

His hometown is near the ocean, and since young he’s found his way to the nearby pier where’d he look into the distance and watch the blue of the skies meld into the blue of the ocean. The sound of waves would surround him while seagulls fly above head.

 

Humans have always longed to fly, strived for the freedom that brings them away from dirt grounds. Youngjae isn’t any different as he dreams of leaving the small countryside and to bigger, better places. He doesn’t want to be constrained to the small restaurant that his father runs--working behind counters until his bones become frail and fine lines settle into his skin. Most of the younger people in their town had moved to the city, leaving behind the old and feeble. Yet even with the dwindling business, his father had refused to sell the store. “I’m not doing this for money, I’m doing this for a memory.” He had said.

 

It’s such a state that led to his mother’s departure. He remembers clearly of that afternoon, as he watched his mother walk away holding his older brother’s hand. In her other hand was her carrier, the sound of the wheels against the pavement filling the empty street. His father didn’t come out to bid farewell, choosing to hide away in the restaurant kitchen. Youngjae watches, small hand grabbing at the hem of his older sister’s shirt, vaguely comprehending at his young age that he won’t ever see them again. He remembers her apologetic gaze the night before, and he attempts to run after the two of them. His sister holds him back, grip bruising as he calls after his mother. It’s years later when he finally accepts that both his mother and older brother have become a tangential line in his life. They had stood there for the longest time that day, until the distant silhouettes disappeared down the road. His throat had long run sore and the sun had already settled halfway behind the horizon.

 

There’s a part in him that childishly thinks that the sky represents his dreams. And acting upon such dreams then represent his departure from reality. This all is an escapade, an indication that he can overcome the impossible. But as he rises higher and higher in altitude, Youngjae wonders if he was actually Icarus and the sky simply represented the spontaneous bliss before his downfall.

 

Was embarking upon this road, truly _freedom_?

 

Was this actually is dream?

 

He doesn’t know.


	4. 《肆》

The more that Youngjae dwells upon his thoughts, the more he finds himself lost--as if his mind was quicksand and sooner or later he’ll sink below and suffocate to his death. He’s lost within the labyrinth of his own contemplations, holding out his heart as he walks down the path. It palpitates in his hold, warm blood staining his palm and dripping to the grounds below. He looks at the vermillion organ, expression contorting in perplexion. “What do you desire?” He asks. His heart simply beats again, muscle constricting as electric signals run through the chamber walls. There’s a sound behind him and he turns around abruptly to see the walls of the maze meld into a dead end. The weight in his hand seems to increase, becoming a burden in his grasp as he makes his way through the maze. Behind him are trails of crimson, marking his journey. He wonders if he should let go, place the organ on the ground while he continues walking--chest empty and hands free.

 

Youngjae looks to his right, catching sight of Yugyeom’s side profile. He settles the textbook on the table, shaking the weight of it off as he props his elbows on the surface of his desk. “Yugyeom-ah,” he calls out.

 

“Hmm?” The younger male hums halfheartedly in reply.

 

“I have something to ask you.”

 

“Okay,” Yugyeom says, marking the points on his graph.

 

“Say...you wanted something for a very long time,” Youngjae rests his head on one hand, vaguely gesturing with the other, “but you then realize that what you wanted doesn’t turn out to be what you wanted. What do you then?”

 

“Are you saying you don’t want it anymore? Or just that it wasn’t what you wanted?”

 

“A bit of both.” He says, “Or maybe just that what you wanted for all this time wasn’t what you _actually_ wanted.”

 

“Hyung,” Yugyeom puts down his pencil with a thud, “You’re turning philosophical on me.”

 

“Am I?” He asks idly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind the other’s ear.

 

“Mmh,” Yugyeom responds, shifting his chair closer to the older male. “The heart desires what the heart desires--but maybe what it desires isn’t what is best.”

 

Youngjae laughs bitterly, turning away from Yugyeom’s gaze. He feels as if he’s underestimated the other’s ability to read between the lines--being attacked when he’s the most vulnerable. “Maybe,” he responds, ending the conversation as he returns to the black and white text of his course book. Yugyeom’s gaze stays on him, bright eyes following his movements before dimming into an amorphous kohl. Youngjae wonders if the other boy could hear the thundering of his heartbeat--can see the red seeping through the white of his shirt.

 

Red, the colour of desire--of love, of passion, of anger.

 

 

 

 

 

The lights blink red as the warning signal goes off, alarm sounding in the small space. Youngjae wipes his hands on the side of his pants, looking sheepishly at their instructor. The simulation application blinks in error in front of him, plane moving through thunder clouds. He grimaces as he watches the older male mark off points on the report. Repositioning his grip on the yoke, he takes a deep breath before trying to steer off on the correct road.

 

“If this wasn’t a simulation, do you know what you would’ve gotten yourself into?”

 

“Yes,” He mutters with a dejected sigh. He knows well enough.

 

 

 

 

 

By the time he leaves the simpit, the sky outside has already darkened. He looks at the small drops of rain on the window, the wind swaying the trees outside. The roaring of the wind only reminds him too much of the airplane engine. The rain, simply reminds him of what happened just moments before. Prodding down the stairs, he leaves the practice room dragging his feet on the ground.

 

He thinks about what their instructor has asked him. If it _hadn’t_ been just a simulation test, what _would_ have happened. He doesn’t want to fathom the thought, shaking the _what-ifs_ and _could-have’s_ out of his mind. Mark gives him a curious look as he enters the room with his consciousness hanging in mid-air. He only shakes his head and plops down on his bed, pulling his blankets around him.

 

“Tired?” Mark asks. He hums softly, nodding his head in reply. The older male leaves his desk, turning off the light and opening the lamp instead. “Go to bed and rest well then.” Youngjae watches with wide eyes as Mark walks back to his desk, flipping through pages of notes. The warm glow of the table lamp seems to burn his eyes--reminding him too much of Icarus and the sun. Where everything in a single moment melted and let him fall to the crashing waves below.

 

He wonders, if he really falls, who would be there to catch him.

 

Would it be the asphalt of paved grounds, the roaring waves of the sea, or would it be the flesh and bones of a human. He closes his eyes, orange light burning behind his eyelids as he slowly falls into the world of slumber. The rain continues outside, thunder rolling and lightning flashing. He dreams of someone that night, though he can’t see clearly who--but he wakes up the next day remembering doe-like eyes and a tightening grip around his wrist.

 

 

 

 

 

“What are you afraid of?” The boy asks. Youngjae doesn’t answer, looking off into the horizon. “I’m happy, are you?” The boy asks again, voice vaguely reminding Youngjae of someone but he doesn’t recall.

 

“I don’t know.” He responds nonchalantly. “I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That sudden venture into magical realism wasn't planned istg...why won't this fic write itself and why won't it write itself in accordance with my plans????

**Author's Note:**

> a wispy ghost had written this and now won't come back to finish the work so I can only sit and wait until it graces its presence on me again. :'))))


End file.
